


With a Dash of Holiday Cheer

by babyvfan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Books, Bookseller Shiro, Car Accidents, Car Trouble, Cinnamon Roll Shiro, Grumpy Keith (Voltron), Holidays, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Pidge is protective of their dad, Pidge is their kid, Single-parent Shiro, Strangers to Lovers, Writer Keith (Voltron), Writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:15:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyvfan/pseuds/babyvfan
Summary: Best-selling author Keith is on a deadline-with a massive writer's block halting any good progress. He doesn't have time for anything else, much like the holidays. However an unexpected detour, a charming bookseller, and their "charming" kid might be exactly what he needs
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26
Collections: Sheithmark 2021





	1. Dashing Through the Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to @ragdollrory for being an awesome beta w/good input. And also thanks to @ulqueleh for being my cheerleader. 
> 
> Hope you guys love it. This story is my precious bay

In theory, Keith supposed he understood why people said a smile made anything better, even bad news. _Especially_ bad news. A smile was there to soften the blow, ease spiked-iron defenses, and tame the tension.

In reality, though, he felt like a smile during tense situations gave the exact opposite effect. At least in his own experiences. Like whenever the few nice teachers he’d had growing up asked him to stay behind to deliver bad news. Like whenever a doctor walked into the tiny room, eyes glancing from Pop to Keith, then back again, a strained smile struggling to stay on while fingers tapped nervously on their clipboard.

And now, with his literary agent smiling so dazzlingly bright and so wide, Keith’s jaw ached from looking at her. The rest of him wished he could hide. Or better yet, decided not to come to this lunch in the first place.

The issue was Allura had all but bullied him into meeting her for lunch at this fancy restaurant at the Upper East Side that she loved so much. She wore such a bright smile when Keith came in and slid into the chair across from her, yet after one minute, the smile remained but there was no denying the tension stiffening her face.

Hence why Keith’s attention for the past twenty minutes had been on the steak he ordered, cutting it into tiny mouse-bite pieces when he came out with the news.

Minutes rolled in long, each second more strung-out than the last.

Finally, when his steak was nothing more than tiny pieces, Keith dared to look up and immediately wished he kept his eyes on his plate.

Allura was still smiling. Or rather her mouth was split wide open, corners lifted impossibly high, teeth bare like a crazed clown on steroids. But there was a twitch going through her face that let Keith know he should have gone with his first thought of wading out the lunch, dropping the bomb at the end, and then running for the hills while Allura was signing off the check. At least then, he wouldn’t have had to worry about having any fatal moves that might be his last.

Allura lowered her cutlery, which eased some of his nerves, and cocked her head to the side. “Come again?”

Yup, he definitely should have gone with the first option and fuck good conscience. “Allura-”

“Come again?” Allura repeated.

 _Goddamn you good concise!_ “I-”

“Keith,” Her voice was so sugary-sweet and razor-sharp at once, matching the jagged curve of her smile. Her bright chipper tone rang with false cheer that made it clear Keith shouldn’t have only gone with the first route, but should have skipped the lunch altogether. “Repeat it, again. If you please”

No, he didn’t want to do that. He’d much rather duck into the bathroom for safety. Put his share for the meal down the table and run fast as he could.

Sadly, though, Keith knew it was inevitable. Not only just because Allura was as strong as she was pretty, a fact many bone-headed idiots found out when their wandering hands slipped too far. Not only because, even if he managed to escape her clutches here at the restaurant, she’d catch up to him eventually, showing up at his doorstep, banging her fist against the door until he’d finally be too fed up with the noise and answered, bracing himself for her wrath. An incident that happened not just once, not twice, but five times, with the last incident resulting in Allura having the doorman unlock the door for her. Mostly, though, because he owed it to her.

He owed it to her for being an incredible agent, who was tough and an incredible friend. For all the times she helped him out of sticky situations with reckless fans and antis alike, dull meetings, and writer’s burn-outs. For taking on the weight of facing the higher-ups when he failed to meet a deadline and talks of cancelled contracts rose up. For taking a chance on him when anyone else- everyone else-would’ve just skipped an unimpressive, poorly unqualified candidate and moved on.

Keith hoped she’d hold onto that and remembered all they’ve been through together when he had to deliver the following bad news to her. Again.

“I don’t have the manuscript.”

Finally that painfully-bright, stiff smile dropped as Allura wilted like a flower, body snagging against the chair. Groaning, she massaged her temples. “Do you have half of it?”

Oh, how he wished he did. “Sadly no.”

Her bright-pink nails dug so deeply into her skin that Keith wasn’t sure how it didn’t break from the pressure. “Do you have a third done?”

“No.”

“An outline at least?”

“That would be a no.”

Allura stared at him in dismay. Then a chuckle burst from her. Not the amused one she let out freely around him. Not the low breaths she used around guys who flocked at her in events and bars. Nope, this chuckle was high-pitched and crazed. As soon it ended, another one burst from her. Then another and another, until Allura was practically crying from her laughter, drawing nearly every eye in the restaurant towards them.

Keith tried offering the curious patrons a smile, but he knew right off the bat that it was a grimace. “Allura,” he said through clenched teeth. “If you could please for the love of God relax-”

Her head landed onto the table with a loud thump that rattled water glasses and silverware, and Keith had to hold onto the edges to make sure nothing fell under. Soon as he was sure the table was safe from any other disasters, he raised his hand to call the waiter over with their check. No sooner did he raised his hand, it was gripped tightly and slammed down back on the table, his poor thumb taking most of the impact to that slam.

“Damn it, Allura!” Keith hissed, rubbing tenderly at his hand. He already spotted a blotch of red starting to color alongside his thumb, a warning of the pain he was going to feel later on. “I need that hand.”

“You sure about that?” she snapped. “Because it seems to me you haven’t been quite productive with it.”

Face flushed from the barb, Keith opened his mouth to defend himself. To tell her about the dozens of empty and half-finished mugs of coffee, along with Redbull cans, that littered his living room, serving as proof of another failed night. The hours he spent in front of his laptop, staring so long and hard into the blank Word doc as if he could will the words to spill across the page, that the white glow of the screen followed him into his dreams. How many pages he had ripped from his notebook, jotting down sentences and phrases that popped into his head, then immediately tearing them out after too many cross-outs so hard and so often that the notebook’s spine was cracked.

Yet the words were tangled in his mouth, knotting up his tongue. Keith had no choice but to lower his head and avert his gaze.

“Keith?” There it was. That troubled sigh. That same sigh he heard through bad parent-teacher conferences, hard conversations with family, hard meetings with the heads of the publishing and marketing team who wanted to go over “slight changes” to his latest manuscript before it went to printing.

He knew that sigh and each time he heard it, Keith’s teeth clenched almost automatically. Along with his stomach.

“Keith.”

Sighing, he looked up. There was no more irritation, which was a good thing because he didn’t know if he could handle anymore. There was also no pity, a very good thing since that was the absolute last thing Keith needed right now. However there was the unmistakable, unquestionable disappointment he was all too familiar with that never failed to hit him like a punch to the gut. Disappointment and worry.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he mumbled before she got another word in. “I know.”

Concern set her face, pulling at her mouth, glinting in her eyes- with that damnable disappointment creeping in like a shadow.

“I know.” Keith mumbled again, miserable.

Dear God did he know.

Keith knew he was one of few out of thousands and thousands of aspiring writers lucky enough to be published writers.

He knew he was lucky enough to be paired with Allura, an out-sought editor and a rising literary agent (and unofficial publishing darling) from one of the biggest publishing houses in New York City-and the whole country. An editor who loved his book as much as Keith did, believed in it even more than he did, and was there every step of the rough journey from writing to editing.

He knew he’d been lucky for his story to gain enough traction for the first book, _The Blade of Mamora_ , that the publishing green-lighted book two, with the help of his loyal fan base that quickly grew after book two. Which later on helped with all five of his books reaching the top ten on the NYT bestselling lists, both for Middle Grade and Young Adult when book three ventured into more mature themes.

He knew after the shocking ending-and traumatic-inducing pain, according to many reviews from Goodreads to popular reviews on booktube-to book six, that fans and critics alike were waiting to see what else Keith would do in book seven.

He knew all that, which made the rock in his stomach feel like a bomb ready to go off.

“I’m sorry,” Such lame words, but what else could he say?

He owed Allura-a whole lot. She was the one who discovered his self-indulgent sci-fi story on Wattpad and hogged him down with countless messages saying this story deserved to be in bookstores. She was the one who took a chance on him.

“What exactly is the problem?” Allura asked.

“Writer’s block.” He winced as soon as he said that.

The most tiring, lamest excuse and at the same time the bane of existence that knocked on every writer’s creative door every now and then. An unwanted relative that chose the wrong timing to come down for a visitor. Keith was no expectation to that dreadful visit, dealing with it every time it was time to work on a new book.

As if reading his thoughts, Allura said, “It’s not the first time you’ve been hit with writer’s block.”

Keith sighed heavily, took a bit of his steak bites, and washed it down with his water. “That’s true.”

“But,” Allura prompted.

“But,” Keith went on. “This one is different.”

Allura’s brows furrowed. “Different how?”

Harder. More exhausting. It was like all his energy and his brain cells went into creating book six, leaving nothing left but a bone-deep exhaustion that was triggered every time he looked at the screen. That anytime he had a sliver of an idea, it vanished as soon as it appeared whenever he opened his laptop or flipped open his journal. “Just…different.”

Allura’s mouth pulled into a tight, thin line, shooting him a warning glare that put all his best stink-eyes to shame. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Are you going to parrot everything I say?”

Before he could help himself, the answer, “Probably,” slipped out.

Groaning, she massaged her temple with one hand while the other hand tapped impatiently at the table. “Honestly, Keith.”

“Look I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“Well, it’s all I can say.”

The next glare she shot him warned of immediate pain if he said anything else. Resigned, Keith helped himself to the rest of his steak and called the waiter for the check. On his second to last bite, he heard a soft, “Okay.”

He looked up at Allura, who had gotten out of her slump and straightened herself to full height. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay,” Allura repeated, and then added as an after-thought. “Well it’s a good thing we didn’t put out any information on Goodreads yet.”

 _A good thing indeed_ , Keith agreed with a slight nod. He grimaced at the memory of multiple publication changes for upcoming books, include his last one, and how readers went into a frenzy that made him grateful he was barely active in that domain. And one of the many reasons why he was barely active on other social media platforms.

“And,” Allura huffed in a long, drawn-out sigh. “I suppose that…I, along with many of your readers, would make rather you take your time to come up with something original instead of rushed-out crap.” She broke out into a shudder. “Or the dreaded filter route.”

Keith grimaced. Another bane and worry that hung over every writer’s head like the Ghost of Christmas future. He’d managed to avoid his second book to fall into second book syndrome that plagued too many authors struggling to recreate the magic from book one, which further amped the pressure in creating the next book. So far too, despite plot-holes and nick-picks fans picked up, he’d managed to put out each book without being called a filter mess.

Letting out another sigh, Allura nodded more to herself than to him. Keith noticed the lines around her eyes, the bags underneath, and felt regret ache in his chest.

“Higher-ups aren’t going to be happy about this, are they?” Keith asked.

Her pause let Keith know right away that he hit the nail with that one. Her careful words alerted him how much she was dreading that conversation. “No, no they won’t be. Especially given…well…”

Keith could barely suppress an eye-roll or groan that slipped out.

Ellen Sanda, head CEO and founder of the Garrison publishing house. Impressive titles and facts, which also sadly gave her the impression that she was entitled to micromanage and change any details to upcoming books she felt needed a bit of “tweaking” Most of which were Keith’s own books.

From the very beginning, Keith had gone toe-to-toe with Sanda over changes that Keith would rather sell his left nut than comply to. Starting with the main’s character, Akira’s ethnicity. Sanda felt default by white was the safer route that’d draw in more readers; Keith refused for his half-Korean MC to be white-washed. Then there were certain relationships she wanted to be further developed, with Sanda hinting more than once that he should consider the relationship of following the popular shipper opinion of Akira developing a romance with the rival princess turned ally, Princess Astormia.

The ending of the sixth book, _The Black Champion_ , raised the stakes and the tension within the fandom, and with Sanda. Keith could still see that final scene perfectly. Akira and Kuron plunging into the deep abyss of space, Kuron one arm down and barely conscious, Akira holding onto his best friend’s hand with all of his might. Gazing down at that face he knew all too well before slowly closing his eyes, accepting his fate as everything vanished in a flash of white.

Many fans rejoiced, sure that the ending meant finally, finally at long last, their Akira and Kuron ship was set sail, taking and retweeting every word exchanged during their last fight as a declaration of love. Many took to social media, flooding his accounts and emails with so many questions on what the ending meant. For Akira, for Kuron and if he was actually dead, and for their relationship. Many more begged for an arc, even an online rough draft of the next book, saying they’ll trade anything from ten years of their lives to their first born child. Sanda called him into her office the day after his sixth book dropped, stared him down for a full minute, and simply told him not to disappoint her.

_A.K.A, make this series worthwhile for the sake of your neck. And contract._

“I’ll handle Sanda.” Allura assured him.

“But-”

“But nothing,” she insisted, waving away his words like they were an annoying fly. “I’ll handle her, Iverson, the whole Garrison house.” She leaned in close. “I’ll have you know that these,” She wiggled her bright-pink, sharp nails. “Don’t get filed for nothing.”

Keith chuckled, even though he still felt that rock weighting down on his stomach. “My hero.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she smiled.

Much as he felt bad for putting her in the position, Keith couldn’t say he envied her. He already had a feeling Allura was going to need her sharp nails and high-heels when she walked into Sanda’s office. And a nice trip to the bar afterwards.

“In exchange,” Allura said. “I ask for something in return. A little Christmas homework if you will.”

Keith’s smile dropped, replaced by a scrunched-up nose. Among many, many things he didn’t miss about school, assignments with deadlines looming over his head were one of them. “Last I checked, I’m not in high school. Hell, I didn’t even finish it.”

Allura’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Maybe not, but you’re certainly in need of some disciplinary action to keep you in line.”

Deepen her voice, take away two feet of her height, and add a dark brown mustache fit for a 70s porn set, Allura could’ve passed as his old high school principal, Mr. Lambert, who lived off his life filling Keith’s records with demerits and was as eager to see him off as Keith was in leaving.

 _Damn old fart_ , Keith thought with a scowl.

“Keith!”

In one blink, he was out of his principal’s office that was heavily perfumed with mothballs and thin mints and back in the present, with Allura’s hand waving in front of his face. The fact she had gotten that close in the first place proved just how far deep he was in.

“Huh?” he asked. “What?”

Groaning, Allura rolled her eyes. “I said, I need you- as your Christmas gift to me- to do two things.”

Warning bells started ringing in his head. Allura sixty percent of the time proved to be a rational, reasonable person. The other forty percent, underneath rationality, laid a crazed mania who hid her crazy with her pretty smile and dress suits. Over the ten years they’d had been working together, Keith quickly learned that Allura and favors were a combination that rarely worked well in his favor. “What?”

“First, that during this magical holiday season-”

Keith snorted and braced himself for the glare she threw his way.

“During this magical holiday season,” she repeated with emphasize. “The first thing is that I need you to do is relax.”

Tempted as he was to remind her that he was perfectly capable of relaxing, thank you very much, and that he and holidays were two things that barely went together, Keith decided to keep his mouth shut and waited for Allura to continue on.

“Second,” she said. “For you to turn up something for me by Christmas. I expect to see a solid, well-thought out outline in my email box.”

Keith thought it over and nodded. It wasn’t as outrageous as he thought it would be.

“Along with ten chapters.”

And there it was. “Are you insane?”

“No, my dear,” Allura smiled. “I’m perfectly sane.”

Perfectly sane, his ass. “How exactly do you think I’ll be able to pull off ten chapters when I can’t even get a damn outline together? And on top of that, Christmas is literally-” He pulled his black Samsung out of his jacket’s front pocket and glanced down at the date. “Ten days away.”

“I’m told creators work well under pressure.”

Growling, Keith’s foot shoot up to deliver a well-deserved kick to her shin. Allura quickly brought her legs up, knee bumping against the table.

“What part of-” Keith began, but then Allura cut him off.

“Look, I need something.” Allura stressed, her teasing smile fading into a frown. “Garrison needs something. Especially after Lotor-well, you know-”

Oh, he knew. Frustration brewed inside him as he thought back to that smug, smirking white-haired posh weasel Keith had the displeasure of meeting during the annual publishing holiday parties.

Once upon a time, Lotor was known as the king of YA, thanks to his paranormal series including a mortal girl and an alien prince, dubbed the Sci-Fi Twilight by the fans. His first book nearly matched the sales of the first Harry Potter book, and continued to grow with each book. By the third book, Lotor was up for so many awards. By the fourth, talks of a movie adaptation surfaced, increasing the sales of the books and the popularity of the publishing house. Then the past summer, old Tweets and Snapchat clips were recovered from his old archive, featuring some of the worst racist and homophobic shit that could rival the tweets of JKR. It was made even more worst that Lotor, a biracial man with a black mother, dating Allura who was a black woman, was featured in clips with a group of white boys who were mimicking “black dialect” and dropping the N-word like crazy.

Backlash was as nasty as it was fast. The whole week the news dropped, Lotoriscancelled was the top hashtag in both Twitter and Tumblr. Sales of his books plummeted, the movie deal was scrapped right as production was about to start, and then Lotor was dropped from social media and his agent and Garrison. After his sound exit, the publishing house immediately put out a statement on every platform, expressing their support in equality and love, but in the end wasn’t much since their stock took a hard blow.

Some of that backlash even followed Allura, who was harassed for some time by former fans who wanted to know how she could date him, how she could not have not seen anything. Allura tried to put on a brave face, but Keith noticed how tense she got each time her phone or tablet went off with a notification, which had him in turn go to his social media and- in the most polite way possible- telling the haters to bring that heat over to Lotor and leave her alone.

Since the scandal, extra pressure was applied to the back of every author’s neck to push good work forward and help bring Garrison back to the top. They were hoping for a win, and what better series to deliver that win than their second most popular series under their publication, the well-loved _Blades of Mamora_ series.

Just thinking of Sanda’s parting words when he last saw her, the number of times he saw videos of his book being featured in Most Anticipated Reads made a headache spike along Keith’s temple.

“Look,” Allura called him back to reality. “Please do me a favor and give me something. Anything to get Sanda off both our necks.”

Complaints and dozens of excuses crowded Keith’s brain, but one look into Allura’s face silenced all thoughts and instead made him say, “Okay. I’ll try.”

**~…..~**

Long hours after suffering through that horrible lunch, after allowing Allura to drag him through another round of Christmas shopping for her large circle, Keith decided he’d had his full of the holiday madness, despite Allura trying to convince him to add more decorations to his place. Not in the place he lived, he didn’t. Christmas music blasting below, above, and through both sides of his apartment’s walls courtesy of his neighbors that sounded like they were having parties. Rudolph the red-nose by the left, Frosty on the right, Jingle Bell Rock below him, and a slow rendition of Santa Baby that made him wonder how many guests were in attendance.

The fact that he was focusing more on the possible guests than on the blank white Word doc in front of him proved just how unfocused he was.

Then again, he was, in a way, following protocol to the routine his nights had been for the past few months. He was sitting in the middle of his couch, hunched over his laptop that was propped up on the mini desk, a bottle of water on one side, a new mug of coffee on the other with a bowl of popcorn to satisfy the munchies, with the cursor blinking away each passing second. Like it had been for the past three and a half hours.

Meanwhile Kosmo was in a much more comfortable position, curled up on the left side of the couch, half-heartedly nipping on his favorite plush toy, blinking away sleep.

In the beginning, Allura had all but bullied him into opening open his social media accounts after keeping them closed for awhile, insisting it would add more appeal to his fans, even when Keith was sure it was going to be a disaster. At the moment, though, he was tempted to take a selfie of his blank Word doc and show the world just how hard writer’s block was hitting him.

He could see it now. How he could make it a whole roll for his Instagram story. First picture of the blank page, the next one featuring his exhausted eyes, and a full view of his writer’s station. Hell, Keith might throw in a full head-shoot of himself, black hair tied in a messy bun, loose strands falling out, and his black round-framed glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He might even zoom-out for a full shot of his outfit, featuring his white t-shirt that was sporting a splash of coffee he accidentally spilled on himself paired with his favorite gray sweats.

 _The life of a writer_ , he’d hashtag. _All stress, no glam_.

Keith nearly laughed. It wasn’t quite what Allura wanted, but the pictures would serve as proof that he was doing something. Maybe not _the_ something-something, but attempting at something, which counted in his book.

Then he remembered the last time he posted an Instagram story, leaving the box opened for questions. He was expecting questions about his favorite stuff, where he was, Kosmo. Almost instantly he was bombarded by questions about book seven. When was it coming out? Did he already have a title? A cover design? What happened to Akira and Kuron? Were they finally canon? Were they being queer-baited?

He had gotten so many questions, his phone nearly combusted from the amount of Instagram notifications that were coming in by the hundreds every second.

This time, though, Keith kept it safe and only featured two pictures of his story: a selfie of himself, and a shot of Kosmo. Seconds later, emojis and comments rolled in, along with questions. Most were harmless, again asking questions on book seven, but sadly for him a few trolls managed to slip through.

A scowl pulled at Keith’s mouth as some of the comments floated through.

**_Tell me you’re not considering shoving gay shit down my throat._ **

**** **_I came for actions and fights, not fags and rainbows._ **

**** **_Why the hell did you turn Akira from a badass to such a whiny brat????_ **

**** **_Why would you have Akira chase Kuron down when Astormia is RIGHT FUCKING THERE?! WHY?! MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!!_ **

**** **_I’ll set every single book on fire if this next one turns into a dumpsterfire._ **

Keith scoffed and dropped the phone besides him. He peeled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling that headache from earlier rolling in.

2020 and people were still homophobic trash.

Comments like these reminded him despite being large and diverse, trolls still lurked in the waters of the Blades fandom-the same ones that never failed to remind him why he hardly went on social media. It was also one of the many, many borders blocking the way of his creativity.

Kosmo pawed at his shirt, drawing his attention away from the faceless antis and into the present. Keith offered him a smile as he petted his head.

“You’ll bite all the assholes for me, won’t you, boy?” Keith asked.

Kosmo barked excitedly, bringing out a peal of laughter from him.

“Good boy.”

Now if only Kosmo was able to bite writer’s block in the ass.

His dog leaned more into his hands, demanding more touches. With a chuckle, Keith obliged, running his hands all over him, especially behind the ears that was Kosmo’s weak spot. Of course it would be that moment, when he was momentarily distracted and feeling light, his phone would go off, breaking up the moment.

Keith tried to reach for it, but Kosmo wasn’t through with him, jumping onto his lap at full force, making Keith fear for the couch a split second.

“Kosmo! Kosmo!” He tried to shake him off, but each direction Keith went, he was greeted by blackish-gray fur or eager licks across the face. “Sit! Heel!”

It was like the more commands Keith ordered, the more Kosmo was determined in doing the opposite, practically standing on Keith at this point. He scrambled for his phone and swiped right without checking the caller ID, sure that it was Allura calling for another update or reminder to take things easy.

“Kosmo!” Keith cried. “Sit!”

He gave Keith a look that was a cross between a glare and a pout before he eased back.

 _Mangy mutt_ , Keith smiled and patted his head. “Thank you.” Into the phone, he said, “Hello?”

Almost immediately, Keith was reminded why the hell he always checked the caller ID before he answered a call.

“Hey, big bro!” Romelle answered back, voice full of grand cheer that matched the tone of the Christmas music playing all around him.

Whatever good mood Kosmo brought him was dead in an instant. “Goodbye!”

Just as his thumb came down on the end button, Romelle called out, “Telling you right now if you even think of hanging up, I’ll haunt the fuck outta your phone, your laptop, hell even the clerk at your apartment building with so many calls and messages like the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“The only ghost you are is being a pain in the ass.”

She giggled into the phone. Keith could see her now. Hanging upside down on the edge of her bed or in the living room couch, long blonde pigtails trailing along the floor, feet crossed and swinging in the air, and her face split in a shit-eating grin.

Keith wanted to hang up and call it a night. But more than one occasion, more than ten in fact, proved that Romelle was big on her threats and this was one she’d easily follow through with. Heaving a heavy sigh, Keith asked, “What do you want?”

“Well, I’m so glad you asked, Santa. I want a Barbie, the Barbie dream house, and the unicorn you missed the past thirteen years-”

“Hanging up now!”

“Happy to see that you’re still the same anti-Christmas Grinch I remember.”

That headache was growing into a spiked migraine as they spoke. “What do you want?”

“You’re coming home for Christmas, right?”

He should have known. If there was one thing he both appreciated and hated about Romelle, it was the fact she didn’t waste time.

“No.”

“Keith-”

“No.”

“Keith-”

“No.”

Frustration sliced through her voice. “Would you please stop being an ass and let me talk?”

A smirk lifted his lips. “Nope.”

“Wow. What a wide range of vocabulary you have. So extensive. So impressive.”

“Well, I am a writer.” Before Romelle had a chance to add any unneeded commentary, Keith said, “Which is exactly why I can’t come home this year. I got a deadline.”

A part of him was sure Romelle would further push the issue, as she usually tended to do in every argument, but as the silence spread out over the lines, Keith began to embrace the possibility that maybe she was granting his long-felt wish of her letting him be. After all, compared to the other excuses he gave over the years of his absence, this was a legit one. This was for work. Who could argue against that?

Apparently Romelle could. “Yeah, doesn’t matter.”

Keith blinked in surprise, and then frowned. “Pardon?”

“Doesn’t,” she repeated in a sing-song voice. “Matter.”

“The hell it-”

“Doesn’t!” Romelle repeated and he could hear her that shit-eating grin. “Matter! And you’re about to find out why. Check out your email.”

His email? Confused, Keith closed the Word doc and pulled Google Chrome, heading straight to his Gmail, spotting a new message from Allura. At first glance, he assumed it was another reminder about this holiday homework assignment. A full view and two attached files revealed it was something else entirely, featuring a two-way bus ticket to home that was set to leave in two days.

At the very end of the message, Allura wrote:

**_C_ ** **_onsider this a little stocking stocker from agent & sister. A change of scenery would do you wonders. And maybe spark that writing bulb_ **

_Of fucking course_. Keith couldn’t suppress the groan/grumble that slipped from his mouth. _Of goddamn course._ “Have I mentioned how much I hate you and Allura’s little friendship?”

Romelle giggled like the evil little shit she was. “You say little, I say she’s my platonic wifey. Which means the dad-”

“Please spare me!” Keith smacked a hand over his face.

The day Allura dropped by his place while Romelle was crashing at Keith’s loft during spring break her freshman college year, that was the day Keith’s sanity plummeted even further. Almost instantly the two became best friends, Romelle being dazzled by Allura’s cloud-like white hair, Allura loving Romelle’s sleeve of beaded dangles. That very day, Keith gained not one pain in the ass, but a tag team of them.

“-So,” The annoying sing-song voice was back. “Where would you like your seat at the Christmas dinner to be at? There’s the popular seat with a full view of the turkey’s ass? Or you can sit by me-’’

“No.” Keith answered.

“Or maybe by Mom?”

“Fuck no!” The venom in his voice was so sharp, Kosmo whined, ducking his head behind his paws. Over the phone, Romelle sucked in a sharp breath, as if the words were a direct hit at her.

Shit, shit, shit. He was just failing at conversations all around today. Sighing, Keith closed his eyes and pitched the bridge of his nose.

It took awhile for Romelle to regain her footing, but Keith could easily tell she was being extra cautious with her words, as if the wrong sentence might get her cut. “We just....we really miss you, Keith.”

Those words were like barbed wire wrapped around his chest, its sharp edges pressing into his chest. “No.”

“No to the seating arrangement? Okay, stings, but we can-”

The wires pressed deeper into his chest. “No to the whole damn thing. Dinner, coming home, all of it.”

“You’re coming to dinner!” Romelle said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

He was tempted to repeat himself, but a quick reminder flashed through his head that he was twenty-six, not twelve. Although Romelle easily brought that side to him. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Keith bit down on his tongue, feeling an onslaught of curses littering across it like spiders. There were dozens of things he could say, things that were rotten, things that were bound to get Romelle off his back and think twice about calling him for awhile, but he knew more than half of those ideas were words that would be hard to take back once he said them. Keith bit down on his tongue and waited till he was sure every thought bubbling in his head, sketched across his tongue, was swallowed down before he tried speaking again.

“Romelle,” He gave himself a congratulatory pat on the back for sounding calm. “I don’t give a fuck about whatever crack-pot, harebrained scheme you and Allura teamed up. I don’t give a fuck how many times you blow up my phone or harass the doorman. I’m saying this once and one time only: _I. Am. Not. Going_! And that’s final.”

**~…..~**

Two days later, Keith’s ranting, vicious cussing was about as long as the mileage his car was going through, moving at a snail’s pace through the massive snowstorm. Cussing at a number of things.

Firstly and unsurprisingly Romelle, who true to her word, kept bombarding and bombarding him with so many missed calls and text messages that his storage device the Best Buy employee assured was near-endless filled the fuck up. Then, proving to be the evil troll she was, she went on social media and pleaded with his readers to get him onboard for the holidays.

Secondly, the readers, his followers, who blew all his accounts across the board with even more messages that Keith couldn’t get onto Word without a new notification popping up. Again, as always, grateful for their love and support, but mad at how easily they turned against him.

Thirdly, Allura, who somehow got into her head that Keith going away for holidays would be the perfect thing for his writer’s block.

_“Did you forget that you assigned me homework this holiday season? An outline and ten chapters to get done?” He reminded her over the phone._

_“Yes, I’m aware- and don’t roll your eyes at me, Keith! I can hear them rolling.”_

_Just for that, Keith did a theatrical double eye-roll, hoping it conveyed enough “so done,” energy for Allura to feel it. From her replying scoff Allura made, it was safe to say that the message was received._

_“A change of scenery will do you wonders.” Allura assured._

_Bullshit. “The fuck it-”_

_“Your bus leaves at eight am tomorrow, so start packing and be sure to get there on time.”_

_“Allura-”_

_“And keep in mind that I want you to take Christmas off. It is a holiday, you know.”_

_Like the decorations, the too-bright lights, and the music that took over every radio station didn’t make it obvious. “I know.”_

_“Good.” Keith sensed that same shit-eating grin on her face. “Happy Holidays.”_

_“Allura-”_

_The call dropped._

Yeah, Keith spent a good hour cursing her out during the long car drive. Which brought him to his next item of ranting range.

The bus stop. Keith knew getting alerts for bus information wasn’t quite as easy as plane flights. Just like he knew any and all flights from now until next year were booked or cancelled, so the fact Allura snagged a bus ticket should have been a sign of her determination. But Keith wished that the bus gods, the travel gods, the holiday gods or whatever higher power there was sent him a sign, like a message, bus trips couldn’t be reliable. Instead he and Kosmo had to endure standing three hours in the freezing cold since the station was too crowded, his toes and hands going numb with frostbite, trying to keep an eye on his luggage as Kosmo was trying to retreat back inside, only for him and over five hundred people had to find out that all buses were shut down until further notice.

By the time Keith finally made it home, he was ready to crawl into bed and sleep into New Year’s, deciding Allura and Romelle and their holiday plans could fuck off. But then his phone buzzed.

Keith clenched his teeth, sure it was going to be from one of the two or both, questioning if he made the bus. Instead the message was:

**Kiddo,**

**Romelle told us the news. Means the world the world to me. Thank you for delivering me the best gift I could get for Christmas. See you soon**

**-Dad**

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Keith would’ve rather it’d been Allura reminding him about his deadline. He’d rather it’d been Romelle saying she rented out a sleigh to get him home. Those would have been much preferred to this one, the words like a blow. A pair of hands where one held the cheek, bringing a sense of comfort, the other one peeling his stomach wide open, exposing his organs. Slowly but firmly.

_Thank you for delivering me the best gift I could get for Christmas._

It was that text, that sentence that made Keith pull his weary, still frostbitten body off the couch and move. Packing back the tote bag and suitcase he unpacked before, waking Kosmo up from his nap, putting in the security system to his apartment, and walking down to the parking garage, where his cherry red Chevrolet SUV waited for him.

When he pulled out of the parking garage, Kosmo tucked in the backseat, his suitcase and tote bag and laptop bag secure in the trunk, it was still early morning. About ten am or so, faint golden light peeking through the gray clouds, light flurries fluttering in the air, dusting the city. Now almost six hours later, the early gray morning slipping away to dark evening black, flurries growing to a full-on blizzard, Keith was pissed, tired, and anxious.

It was as if the longer he drove, the harder- and thicker- the snow fell. The more highways and exits he went through, the fewer cars he saw on the road until it was just his truck on the lone path, raising his anxiety levels.

Kosmo whined behind him, pawing at Keith’s chair. Keith felt like his Pop all those times he was driving while Keith was strapped behind him, whining how long until they got there.

“Just a little while, Kosmo,” Keith called back, eyes flickering over to the road and down to his phone, secured by its holder, Google maps reading that he was close to the halfway point of his destination.

Usually, a ride between New York and his old childhood home-according to Google maps at least-was four hours long, give or take, depending on the traffic. Sometimes less if he kept driving on. However, thanks to massive traffic jams, multiple accidents on the highway that led to more traffic jams, and lovely delays that caused more jams and accidents, the drive ended up being a lot longer.

“Goddamn,” Keith muttered.

First thing he was going to do when he got back home, strip off his clothes, and sleep for the rest of the weekend, resurfacing only for bathroom breaks and snacks.

Kosmo stopped with the whining and decided to go with barking, his pawing more frantic.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Keith said. “I need to sleep, but I also have to get some writing done. Last thing I need is Sanda on both our asses.”

Especially after that charming little email she sent to him, CC’ing Allura, expressing her disappointment that they’d have to move the publication date for the seventh book.

Keith glanced around the area. Google Maps said he was close to the main town, around the back road area, but the path he was on didn’t look that much different than the dozens of other highways he went through. Only narrower with a maze of trees that were closer along the road, as if they were closing in on him.

“Google, where the hell are you taking me?” Maybe it was the long hours on the road. Maybe it was because exhaustion was weighing down on him, worsened by the fact he only had a few bites of a protein bar before he hit the road. Maybe it was the maze of tall, wide trees that seemed to be pressing closer and closer. Whatever the reason, Keith felt like it was losing his mind.

Now Google was telling him in the next two feet to take a left, but Keith didn’t see any other way but right. Unless they somehow thought his truck could handle skating down the roads of trees.

“How the fuck do they expect me to- _SHIT!_ ”

A second, just a split second. That was how long Keith took his eyes off the road, glancing down at his phone to make sure the GPS was taking him the right direction. Then his eyes snapped back to the front, widening in horror as bright headlights were charging straight at him full force.

“ _Shit!_ ” Keith yelled, heart thundering in his chest as he gave his wheel a hard twist, reeling the car away from the rushing headlights and skidding across the road, pine needles keying the paint as the SUV went barreling down the hill.

_Shit! Shit! Shit!_

It was the one word that made sense. The only thing Keith could think, the only thing that made sense as Keith’s world was reduced to a terrifying tornado he was wrapped in. The word spun around his head, beated along with his heart, and fired in his blood before everything went black.

*********

“Wake up.”

Keith groaned in protest, burying himself against the nice, sweet warmth that was better than any blanket he ever owned. Even better than his bed that was worth a pretty penny for its soft firmness. This warmth was twice as much as that. He’d almost deemed it perfection if that sweet warmth weren’t shaking at his shoulder, although the touch was gentle, warm like the rest of it, and insisting Keith woke up.

He didn’t want to wake up. Waking up required energy. Waking up meant hurting. Keith felt through the ache drumming along his body, throbbing at his head and neck. He knew from the heaviness of his body that any energy he had went into trying to make out the words warmth was saying to him.

He groaned again, louder, pressing his face further into the broad muscle pillowing his aching side. If only the warmth took the hint and just let him have this.

Warmth was insistent, though. “Come on,” he said. “Just open your eyes for me.”

 _No._ A pitiful, low sound that could’ve rivaled Kosmo when he was starving for attention or a second bowl of food slipped through Keith’s mouth. Embarrassed as he was by the sound, he didn’t regret it. He shut his eyes more tightly.

“Please,” the warmth said again. “Just once.”

It was the please that swayed Keith, to muster whatever energy he could scrap together, push past the pain biting into his vision, and crack open his eyes.

His vision was swimming. His head throbbing. Somehow, someway he made out a few details of the warmth, the stranger cradling him.

He made out the broad shoulders that blocked most of the glow from the headlights flaring behind them. Pale face with a square jaw and a wide scar sliced across it. Hair so light, it could have been mistaken for the snow that was falling softly around them. Most of all, gray eyes. Gray like doves, gray like stormy clouds. Gray that was warm and soft as the smile curving the stranger’s mouth as he brushed back loose strands away from Keith’s face, granting him a better view of his face.

“There you are,” Even his words were as soft as his smile.

Pretty. It was the first thought that came to mind. Pretty. The perfect word to describe him. Keith hoped suddenly with all his heart’s might that this stranger knew how pretty he was. Hoped he was told so everyday. If Keith had it his way, he’d make it so. Every day, every hour, every minute, the word chiming like a bell. Pretty, pretty, pretty.

“Pretty,” Keith reached for him. “Pretty Kuron.”

Gray eyes widened in astonishment, smile faltering. Warmth rippled through Keith’s chest at the effect his words had on the angel.

His pretty angel. His pretty Kuron. His Kuron.

He gave Kuron one last smile before darkness dragged him down.

*********

Keith’s senses returned to him one by one.

Starting with the faint sound of beeping going off by his eardrums. A little distant at first, like a TV going off in the room next door, before the sound slowly grew louder.

Next, his body. Becoming aware of each limb’s weight and stiff pain that added more weight to it.

Finally, the blackness that was slowly dissolving away, layer by layer, until the only thing left to do was open his eyes.

Bright red was the first thing Keith saw, a cross between an afro and a mop, so puffed out that the ceiling lights were blocked out. Bright red hair framed around light brown skin with caked-up crazed eyes and a wide grin that showed more teeth than mouth, hovering an inch away from Keith’s face.

“Booja, booja, booja!” The clown cried.

Keith’s right fist was balled up and smashed against Pennywise’s face before he drew another breath. His knees shot up a second later, delivering a harsh uppercut to the clown’s chin, knocking him off Keith and onto the floor.

By the time the nurse, an attractive Latina with darker brown skin with a short bob and tiny glasses, came into Keith’s room, she was a stunned statue by the doorway. Not that Keith blamed her. He probably looked as ridiculous- and undignified- as he felt, holding a pillow over his head like he was prepared for round two, ready to whip it at Chuckle’s said. While he was armed, Chuckles stripped off his terrifying mask and covered his hand with his face.

“What the hell happened?” she demanded.

Keith waved his pillow over at the clown. “Chuckles here though the best way to jumpstart my heart was giving me a heart attack.” He glared at him. “Thanks for nearly scaring me to death, asshat!”

Asshat was a squeaking, stuttering mess, eyes growing wider, squeaks growing louder until Keith was sure the whole hospital could hear him. “ _I scared you?!_ ”

“Yes!” Keith snapped, then winced at the pain that flared against his temple.

“I beg to differ-”

“Lance!” The nurse cried out, the loud retort making Keith’s headache worse. She glared down at Chuckles. “I told you that you should have waited until we got his vitals.”

Lance the busted Pennywise, whirled his head around to the nurse, shock and betrayal edged on his face. “Forgive me, sis, for wanting to give him a creative sort of wake-up call?”

More like try to give him a heart attack. The sis comment caught Keith’s attention. He spared a glance between the two of them. The Nurse and Chuckles, locked in a glaring match, looked around the same age, her skin darker brown to his light one, but Keith spotted a few similarities here and there.

“And-” Nurse looked like she was ready to chew her brother out, which Keith would love to see, but there were a few things he needed to straighten out first. Starting with the number one question:

“What the hell happened? Where the hell am I?”

Okay, fine. Two questions but considering the near-death experience he escaped, he earned that slip-up.

Their argument was pushed to the side as they turned towards them, concerned expressions washing away their annoyance. Well, Nurse looked concerned. Lance looked confused.

“You don’t remember?” she asked.

Keith shook his head, his mind scrambling to piece things together.

He remembered….he remembered Allura’s bus ticket going to waste. The long hours out on the road with little sleep and caffeine winding him down. Google maps directing him this way, that turn. Snow went from light flurries to a hard, heavy blizzard. Flashing lights racing towards him-

“Shit!” The crash. How the hell could he forget?

“Don’t worry,” The nurse said. “Your dog is okay. A bit scared, but he’s been taken good care of. Shiro’s looking over him as we speak.”

_Shiro?_

“He would have been here. Hung around the hospital for awhile, but he had to take care of the shop.”

_Shop?_

“Wish I could have been there to see the Champ in action, saving another damsel in distress.” Lance snickered.

_Damsel?_

“Hauled out of your car and kept you warm till the paramedics came.” Lance passed a sly smile over to Keith. “According to some of my friends in scrubs, it was pretty romantic.”

Keith’s face felt bright, burning red.

Veronica let out a string of vicious words in Spanish as she marched over to her brother and whacked him across the back of his head, turning her brother’s smug smile into a startled yelp. After another sound whack, she seethed, “I’m trying to make sure my patient doesn’t get triggered and you are not helping!”

“What? I’m only giving credit where it’s due. He should know Shiro saved his neck.”

Pain tap-danced along his temples, each step digging its heels deeper in than before. Keith closed his eyes and tried to think around the headache.

Okay, Kosmo was safe. That was good. And he was safe with a stranger, who also happened to rescue Keith from the car wreck. That was also good.

“- _Pretty_ -” _Keith had said in a warm, droopy haze_.

White hair. Broad shoulders. A thick scar over his nose. Gray eyes, gray eyes that reminded him of-

“ _My pretty Kuron_ ,” _Keith had patted him on the cheek, had wanted to bury himself inside that beautiful warmth._

“Oh God.” Keith buried his face with his hands, sinking back into the bed, wishing that the blankets and pillow could swallow him whole.

“Hey, you okay?”

Keith peeked through his hands to see the siblings were watching at him, brows furrowed.

_No, I’m not. Unless you call me confusing my knight in shining army with one of my book characters, okay. If that’s the case, then yes. I’m grand. Fucking fantastic._

“Where am I?” Keith mumbled.

“Why, my dear violent, mullet-haired friend, don’t you know?”

There was something in that sugary glee laced in Lance’s voice that made warning bells thrum in Keith’s head.

“What?” Keith and almost instantly regretted it as he spotted a matching gleeful grin spilt Lance’s mouth.

“You’re in Christmas Land.” 


	2. Deck the Halls

Thank God for Nurse Veronica Lodge.

Not only was she a good nurse, much better with people skills than some of the others Keith had the displeasure of meeting, but she was the one who kept her family from losing a son since he’d been ready to throttle Lance with his bare hands. Bruised up or not.

She prevented a near attack by giving Lance another whack to the head with her clipboard, ignoring his grumbled complaints of abuse, and then worked to ease Keith’s anxiety before it kicked into overdrive.

As it turned out, Keith wasn’t in Christmas land-a good thing too, since he wasn’t sure how many more surprises he could take in one conversation without slipping back into unconsciousness.

Nurse Veronica diffused that rumor and advised Keith, “Ignore him. I do.”

“Hey!” Lance barked, rubbing his head. “Pretty sure that this counts as medical abuse.”

“It doesn’t when one is saddled with their moronic brother who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

Keith rubbed his temples to tame the migraine swelling inside his skull.

“How the hell you got approved to be a candy-stripper is beyond me!” she said.

“Hey!” Lance exclaimed. “I’ll have you know that Wendy happened to have gifted me with a glowing recommendation letter, saying I’d be perfect.”

“If you mean a perfectly stupid moron, then yes. I agree.”

Around the time Lance launched into an explanation, Keith slipped back into sleep, hoping things would make sense- and be less loud- in dreamland. When he woke up again, Lance was still in the room, Keith felt groggy, and Veronica shared that the place he landed in was a small town in Connecticut, nicknamed Haven.

“Although during the holiday season, we definitely outdo ourselves, so Christmas land isn’t much of a stretch.” Lance joked. His grin dropped at the dark glares he received in return.

Veronica rolled her eyes at her brother’s antics and walked over to Keith, breaking out the pen and clipboard, flipping to a new page. “Alright, Mr. Kogane-”

“Keith,” he insisted. Even though he was twenty-five, it still felt odd to be referred to as a Mr.

He remembered how his dad’s nose wrinkled whenever he was called Mr. Kogane, saying he felt like an old man. He almost smiled at the memory, but then paused as he remembered how Pop’s face looked the last time they saw each other. Disappointment etched deeply into his face, hurt heavy in his eyes as Keith stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

“Keith then.” Veronica smiled and then started her round of questions.

Despite the echo of pain that kept throbbing along his body, drumming along his shoulder blades and his neck, Keith didn’t suffer any massive damage. He managed to walk away with snitches sew onto the left temple, compliments of the hard knocking his head suffered during the tumble down. The worst was his wrist, his left one attached to his writing hand that had been fractured and would need to be in a cast.

Allura was going to kill him when she found out.

“Don’t worry,” Veronica assured, misreading his grimace. “It’s not forever. You didn’t wreck it too badly.”

“Unlike your car.” Lance piped in.

“What happened to my car?” Keith asked.

“Well-” Lance squealed- a near hysterical one-at the death glare Veronica shot him. “I think I’ll let you later. When you’re well rested. Well hydrated. And my life isn’t in immediate danger.”

Keith slapped his palm against his forehead. Well, wasn’t that just a fucker? “I suppose your quaint little town doesn’t have a bus station or a car rental place?”

The grimaces on both their faces confirmed his worst fear, making him sink further into his head.

Great. So after Allura killed him for getting hurt- more importantly for hurting his writing hand- Romelle was going to finish off the rest of him.

**~…..~**

Keith stayed in the hospital for an extra day of observation. When it was clear that his grogginess was more from oversleeping and crabbiness than internal injuries, the doctor let him go on the strict order for bed rest, prescription for medicine to help with the pain, and an appointment for next Thursday to change the bandages.

“As long as you’re careful with it,” Veronica told him. “You should be able to heal in about eight weeks. Six if you’re lucky.”

 _Wonderful_ , Keith groaned. So not only did he nearly die in the road, not only was he forced to come out because guilt gawked at his insides, but now he was without a truck, without a dog, and without a plan besides staying here longer than intended. Oh, and his injured hand messing up with his writing plans, so that was just the fucking cherry on top.

“What are the odds any hotels or motels are open?”

A dumb question to ask when the holidays are close, but he figured since he was already down on his luck, why not add more fuel to the fire?

“You’re in luck, my 80s-mullet new friend,” Lance grinned.

“No thanks.” Keith drily replied back.

“Oh, come on. Consider it an apology from me to you for nearly scaring you.”

“Nearly?” Keith repeated, brow arched. Waking up to Pennywise so close to your face was more than just a slight scare.

“Not to mention,” Chuckle continued. “It’s better than wasting valuable time arguing and playing phone tag with front desk robots.”

Keith thought it over, caught between pride and practicality. One emotion that had been a friend and enemy to him for as long as he could remember, reminding him he’d be in worse situations that he always to top in the end, insisting he could handle dealing with reservations and stubborn hotel heads. The other side, though, chimed in, reminding him of wasted time and how much he really wanted to be anywhere but in the hospital.

Keith’s face must have been biased, stating the answer without him needing to voice it, because Lance’s smile grew into a wide, obnoxious grin.

“Oh, shut up!” Keith barked.

“No promises.” Lance said, laughing at the sneer Keith gave him.

He was still laughing as he picked up Keith’s bags that managed to survive the crash and wheeled him out to the parking lot that was half the size of his parking garage of his loft. Keith didn’t see there a point in using a wheel chair since the only thing injured was his wrist, but Veronica said it was hospital policy. Lance most certainly enjoyed Keith’s annoyance, barely concealing his snickers as he carefully stepped around the thick patches of ice and snow, helping Keith into the passenger side of his blue Volvo and placed the bags in the backseat. By the time Lance circled his way back to the front, Keith was still swallowing down the words, “Twilight” and “Cullen Mobile” that were trying to crawl out of his throat.

“Buckle up.” Lance said.

Keith was surprised how small everything was in the town as they drove. Granted, he already had his suspicions but seeing it was something else.

A new layer of fresh snow coated the ground, the buildings, and the olive-green gazebo that was stamped in the middle of their downtown square Keith betted was a popular spot during the summer. Haven looked like much of the small towns he read about in other books or seen in movies. Small with the tallest building being a couple story stories high. More Ma and Pop corner stores than well-known chains lined along the streets, although Keith did spot a large Dollar Tree that was across the street from a small library that looked more like an old-fashioned school house. Decorations were plastered on every window, every store front, every door, with dozens of lights blinking so brightly that Keith’s vision swam with color. He even heard Christmas music spilling from the stores that was almost as loud as the music blasting through Lance’s car speakers.

Lance was drumming his fingers along to _Rocking around the Christmas Tree_ , singing along to the lyrics. The music was already loud enough that Keith’s ass was vibrating underneath his shaking car seat, but then Lance reached over to turn the volume up.

Keith’s hand came down on Lance’s in a heartbeat. “Please, for the sake of my eardrums and my sanity.”

“Oh, come on, Scrooge,” Lance batted away his hand and turned the volume up, testing the limitations of the speakers. “It’s the holidays. Liven up.”

“I’m good.”

“Seems to me like someone needs a good festive time under the mistletoe.”

Against self-control and better judgment, Keith’s traitorous mind conjured up an image of white hair, a kind face, and gray eyes. An image that made his cheeks aflame.

“Oh, looks like you already have someone in mind,” Lance’s eyes twinkled in mirth. “Do I get a prize if guess correctly?”

“Shut up!” Keith barked.

“Like maybe five dollars. I could use some snacks.”

Trying to will the blush away from his face, Keith turned over to Lance and said, “My left hand may be indisposed of, but my right one,” He lifted it up, curled up into a perfect fist. “Is working just fine and is said to hit twice as hard. Care for a demonstration?”

Lance’s laughter came to an abrupt, scoffing halt. “No thanks, Bruce Lee. I think my nose is still swollen from your earlier demonstration.”

“Good.” Keith smirked.

Lance muttered words under his breath, Sadist a popular one dropped a dozen times. Keith turned his attention back to the window, watching the rest of the town.

So far one of the tallest thing he’d seen was the town tree stamped in the town’s square, every branch and fern adorned with ornaments, yards and yards of tinsel, and twice as many blinking lights. Completed with a huge, golden star shining so bright, it could be a second sun.

“I don’t even want to know how much your electricity bill is,” Keith muttered.

Around the next corner was another shop. Light brown and dark red that oddly enough reminded him of cinnamon. Along the edge of the front ceiling was a multi-purple rocket tipped up to the sky, silver rocket flames exploding from the end with the words in neon purple _BLAST OFF_ written across it in big, bold letters.

In front of the store that was already decked the halls out with decorations, perched on the ladder was man-possibly the storeowner- stringing lights along the sloped roof. His back was to them, so Keith couldn’t see him properly, but the view he was granted was plenty enough for him, with his wide back, tiny waist, and broad shoulders.

“What’s that?” Keith asked, and then immediately regretted it when Lance’s annoying smile resurfaced again as he followed Keith’s pointing finger.

“I think you mean who.” Lance said.

“Forget I said-”

“That’s Shiro,” Lance quickly cut in. “As in your heroic savior. The Superman to your Lois Lane.”

Immediately his mind brought back the feelings of strong arms and kind eyes and-and-and-Keith felt heat creeping up his neck.

Lance snickered and Keith kept his eyes straight forward until the downtown square and rocket store were far from sight, including the gorgeous owner.

*********

The inn Lance took him was small, with white fenced balconies at the every side door. The building was painted bright white with light blue lining the window frames, and the roof tilting. The owner, Coran, turned out to be an orange-mustache wearing, skinny-bean Santa Claus with his bright personality and shocking generosity.

Keith dug out his jacket’s inner pockets to get out his wallet, but Coran pushed his hand down.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Shiro already gave me a generous tip even after the discounts.”

“Shiro?” Keith repeated, puzzled.

“Yes,” Coran answered. “He rented out the room for you the rest of your stay.”

 _He-he_ …Keith’s eyes bugged out.

“Quite the generous man.” Coran nodded. “Almost like dear Kris Kangle himself.”

“Some would say quite the charmer.” Lance piped unhelpfully. “Like Prince Charming.”

Keith chose to ignore the pointed look Lance shot his way. He did, on the other hand, allow his foot to fly and land a good kick to Lance’s shin.

The suite his hero (Lance’s words, not his) rented out for him gave off comfortable vibes that matched the rest of the inn. Royal blue carpeting, bright walls that would’ve been unsettling if not for the thick taupe curtains that kept most of the morning light out. The bathroom was modest, set with enough room to move from the toilet to the shower and sink without feeling boxed in. There was a dark chestnut desk, matching the dresser and mini closet, with a black reclining chair by the left side of the wide-screen TV.

A perfect spot for writing. That was where his mind should have been. It was right by the window, providing perfect lighting and a good view. The chair looked comfortable enough. And for a split-second, that was where Keith’s mind went to, but then it quickly switched over to the king-size bed where he wanted to sink into and not come out of until New Year’s.

“Is it alright if I bring my dog here?’ Keith asked. “He’s trained, I swear.”

Coran hummed thoughtfully as he played with his mustache. ‘Well, usually, pets aren’t allowed but if you insist he’s okay, then alright.”

“Shiro’s been keeping me updated.” Lance chimed in. “A real peach, that dog is. Unlike his owner.”

Keith glared at him.

“Wonderful,” Coran grinned.

Minutes later, Keith was alone in his room, trying to unpack his bags one-handed. He was happy he only brought a few bags, which more so had his laptop and his essentials than clothes, sure he’d be spending most of the holiday break inside the room writing, except for the times he’d step outside to get some coffee. Unfortunately unpacking one-armed, and after days of lying in bed, proved to be tiring.

He grunted as he pulled his laptop from the bottom of his tote bag, protected by jeans and thick hoodies. He was relieved to see there weren’t any scratches like he feared, and he saw everything else was working just fine. Thank God, which left checking the phone.

Heart pounding, Keith plugged his phone to the charger by the nightstand. Soon as the battery percentage got to five, he turned it on.

The damage? 40 missed calls from Romelle, Allura, Kolivan, and several from the house phone that made his stomach twist in nausea. 60 messages from text and Facebook messenger. A full voice mailbox he was in no rush to listen to.

“Just come home for the holidays,” Keith muttered, placing his phone on silence and flipping it facedown on the nightstand. “It will be fun, they said. Just come home for the holidays. It will take your mind off things, they said. Just come home, they said. It will mean so much.”

Mean so much, his ass. Keith peeled away the covers and slipped into the bed.

 _Bah humbug_.

*********

_Each and every single one of his senses came back to him one at a time. Painfully, slowly, as if they wanted Akira to be aware of their ability._

_First smell. Faint whips of smoke tricking his nose._

_Then touch, feeling pebbles and dirt underneath his fingers, pressing against his back._

_And feel. He felt everything. The hot sun beating down on his face. The knee balancing his head. More importantly, fingers combing through his hair, so light that Akira thought he imagined it._

_But he knew the truth. Akira recognized that touch anywhere. A touch that brought comfort that chased away nightmares. The tether that kept him balanced through it all. Through foster homes, through bullies, through discovering his absentee mother’s secret heritage that triggered this crazy journey, through the intense training that nearly broke him more than once._

_Kuron, Akira wanted to say. He would have said it, but there was cotton in his mouth. His eyes felt so heavy, as if cement held them down._

_The fingers stopped moving and pulled away._

_No! Alarm surged through his body, and Akira tried to reach for him, but his body was so weak, so tired._

_“Kuron!” he croaked, his voice so weak he could barely hear himself._

_Not only were the fingers pulling away from him, but the support underneath his head, giving away to nothing. The warmth pressed against him disappeared, leaving him cold and alone._

_No, no, no!_

_Kuron. Kuron. “Kuron!”_

_Akira’s eyes popped open and he looked into…_

_Into…_

“Fuck!” Keith groaned when his brief steam of creativity ran to a stop, giving the black waste basket underneath the table a good kick.

Writing sprouts were as annoying as they were unpredictable. Coming at the most random, inconvenient times, often bursting into your mind like a broken dame with an endless stream of ideas, filling you up with the great need to race over to the notebook and journal and get down as many words as you can before the stream dried up.

For Keith, this particular writing boost woke him up the next morning, breaking through the deep fog of medicated sleep. Caused him to scramble out of bed, nearly breaking his ankle in the process, heading straight for his laptop before the idea left him, opening up Word doc and letting the words pour out of him.

For nearly an hour, it did. He was back in the zone. He saw the image so perfectly: Akira battered and bruised from the fall, slowly gaining consciousness, mental fingers combing his ink-black hair. Keith’s fingers were trying to keep up with the rapid chaos of his mind, shooting so many words in a minute. His stomach loosened at the familiar rhythm. His breathing quickening as black letters ran rapidly across the blank documents, his mind racing.

Then his creative brain ran out of stream, coming to a harsh stop. Writing boost here and then gone, with the blockage widening and heightening to the familiar brick wall that had been plaguing him for months. Again.

Keith groaned as he rolled his chair back, leaned his head against the chair, and covered his face as he swore viciously at his stupid brain for flanking out on him.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was it hard to get the words to come out of him? Why was it hard for him to just write, the one thing he was always good at?

“Perfect,” Keith groaned, shutting his laptop off before he did something stupid, like chucking the whole thing out the window. Or deleting everything he’d just written, and then tossing it out the window. “Just fucking perfect.”

He needed his writer’s block to go away. He needed the new headache throbbing by his temple to go away. He needed his dog back. He needed coffee.

His eyes slid over to the business card he found sandwiched between his pillows that had floated into the air when he hopped into the bed. _BLAST OFF_ , the store he remembered riding passed with Lance, offering the best of both worlds with sweets and books. Behind the card was a message written in black ink that was read close to a dozen times.

_Whenever you’re free, stop by. Heard that coffee and fresh air does wonder for recovery. Safe to say your dog approves of the treats ;)_

_-S_

A sound that was a mix between a scoff and chuckle escaped Keith’s mouth as he read the message, but he felt his mouth twitching up. An unexpected pang of warmth dripped inside his stomach like honey, the same affect repeating again as he read the message for another time, his lip twitch forming into a full smile, warmth toying his insides.

Minutes later, Keith found himself standing in front of _BLAST OFF_ , shivering in his red parka, wondering for the thousands time from his hotel suite to the Uber ride here how this meeting would go. What’d he say. How he’d make for his blunder. Request Kosmo, strap on the leash, and then be on his way before things had a chance to be awkward.

Well, only one way to find out.

Keith turned the bronze round knob and pushed opened the red wooden door. Above it, a silver bell wrapped in holly and tied with shiny red, chimed as he stepped in. Immediately, the scent of cinnamon and gingerbread trickled his nose, causing his stomach to wake up with a loud grumble, going off his loudly that Keith had to wrap his arm around it.

A pitiful sight that must have been the reason for the amused chuckle Keith heard coming from the front. He looked up and saw a russet-tanned young man with floppy black hair pulled back with an orange headband grinning at them behind the wide counter with glass displays showing off rows of sweets that made Keith’s mouth water. Stones, cupcakes and full cakes, brownies, croissants and Danishes toppled with different sorts of cream.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry,” the man commented, a grin splitting his mouth.

“No, really, it’s fine,” Keith insisted. “All I need is coffee.”

His stomach gave another loud growl.

The stranger’s smile broadened to a grin. He honestly gave Keith the impression of a gingerbread man with his bright glee. “You say one thing, my man, but your stomach says another.”

“I-” His stomach cut him off again with another growl.

“Come on in,” he waved a hand over. “I have just the thing.”

Keith’s embarrassment died with each step he took inside, ceasing as he glanced around the place.

It was the size of your usual coffee shop. Soft brown sofas placed by the right side, pushed besides the wide square windows. To the left, there was a small alcove that looked like a bonus seating area with a large couch and two chairs and a Christmas tree by the corner. Along the side of the walls were rows of round tables with two chairs, and displays of the holiday creations on the bookshelves sandwiched between tables, the pastry scene played in front of the pages of an opened book. The Nutcracker, made of what looked to be marshmallows, walnuts, and licorice, lifted up a Barbie Clare over his head who was dressed in a tutu with an elaborate puffy pink skirt. In the next bookshelf, Santa Claus on his sleigh that looked like it was made out of milk chocolate.

“You know,” the stranger agreed, not minding Keith’s wandering eye. “Have to say, Mr. Bruce Lee, you’re not that scary.”

Keith’s brows furrowed. “Pardon?”

The stranger-Keith peered at the nametag pinned on his white apron- _Hunk_ \- shrugged one shoulder as he turned his back to Keith and worked to the complex caffeine machine behind him, already turning it on. “Well, according to Lance, you turned from patient to Bruce Lee incarnate in the span of two-point-five seconds, and nearly broke his spine with one kick.”

 _That little fucking_ \- Keith took in a deep breath and counted down from twenty to keep his temper from boiling over. “First off, that was not my fault.”

“Uh-huh.” Hunk was nodding, sneaking a peek over at him. The glint in his eye said otherwise.

“Second, your friend is an over-exaggerating, dramatic moron.”

“Tends to be that and more,” was Hunk’s nonchalant reply, barely audible over the loud shrieking of the caffeine machine.

“Third, I don’t break his spine, but he damn well deserved it. Apparently he thought a clown mask was what I needed to wake up to.”

Hunk burst into laughter, one hand clenching onto the counter, one onto his stomach. Keith folded his arms and tapped his foot impatiently as he waited.

Realizing he was laughing too much, feeling the burn of Keith’s glare, Hunk sucked in a deep breath, attempted to cover up his laughter with a cough, and pasted on a bright smile. “Sorry, redo. Hello, welcome to Blast Off. How can I help you?”

“Coffee. Black.”

“What?” Shock plastered onto Hunk’s face, as if Keith announced he wanted the blood of chicken. “ _That’s it?!_ ”

“All I need.”

“Nope,” Hunk shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope.”

“Pardon?”

“I know exactly what you need.”

“But I-”

“Just trust me.”

Three words that proved to be Keith’s downfall to further damnation or humiliation. Keith was about to decline, but in the next heartbeat Hunk thrust a red coffee cup in front of him.

“Gingerbread Latte. A crowd favorite.”

Keith was ready to decline, but the earnest look on Hunk’s was too much to deflate. He took the cup and a tentative sip, prepared for too much sweetness, thick clumps of sugar still lingering at the bottom. Instead what he tasted was perfectly-blended tastiness, caffeine and gingerbread and caramel with a hint of vanilla that was just right.

“Wow,” Keith muttered, taking another step.

“Right? And you know what goes better with it?” Hunk pulled out a white bag and thrust it towards Keith. “Some of my famous snicker doodle cream puffs.”

“I-” Keith fell silent at the look Hunk gave him and accepted the bag. Steam flooded his cheeks as he opened the bag, peering into what looked to be two dozen puffs, dusted with cinnamon. He ripped off a piece, popped it into his mouth, and nearly melted from the taste.

“I know,” Hunk grinned. “I’m that good.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but decided to let the man live. After all, these were pretty good. The additional four he wolfed down confirmed it, washing it down with another gulp of coffee. “So why is this place called Blast off? Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice place,” He glanced around. “It’s nice and all but I was thinking it’d be more-”

“Rocket ships? Spacemen? Aliens?”

Keith nodded. “More or less.”

Hunk chuckled, unfazed. “Understandable. It’s a question we get once or twice a week whenever a new customer comes in. Originally when we were brainstorming ideas, nothing seems to stick. Suddenly Shiro blurted out, ‘Blast Off!’ I think this may or may not have to do with the _Jimmy Neutron_ marathon we were having with Pidge. Somehow it just stuck. It helps with business. Curiosity brings in customers. Customers bring in money, good reviews, and more buzz. And also the occasional Instagram tag that does wonders for the business. Start off at home base and make their way up.”

“Home base?” Keith repeated, swallowing down another cream puff. “Up where?”

Hunk pointed at the small black metal staircase spiraling up to the second floor Keith didn’t notice before. “To the stars. Go. You may find your buddy there.”

Logic, stone-cold and no-bullshit logic reminded him that Hunk was referring to Kosmo, who was taking shelter here while his owner was recovering from his injuries. The irrational, impulsive side of Keith, however, felt the need to bring up the muscular back he spotted hanging lights outside the store the other day. The writer behind the card on the pillows. His rescuer, who pulled Keith out of the wreck, kept him warm until the ambulance came in, and tolerated his touches and words until he blacked out.

Almost instantly his cheeks flushed. Mischief crept up Hunk’s smile, reminding him too much of Lance.

Muttering a thanks, Keith took his coffee, his bag of pastries, and headed upstairs.

First thing he saw were books, so many books. Books in neat rows, packed into shelves that almost reached the ceiling and separate shelves that nearly touched his knee. Shelves done in a spiraling loop, revealing new releases and popular titles. Books lined up against the window frame, the dual round windows displaying the snow-coated town that looked like it belonged on a Christmas card. Along with the books was a tall green and silver bar table by the side with matching tall stools. There were two comfortable light green recliner couches pushed against windows by the side, windows that were lined with green and red Christmas lights.

Keith’s mood instantly lightened as he stepped in, heart growing soft at the sight of beautiful covers. So many beautiful covers with incredible adventures, mysteries, action all tucked inside, just waiting to be cracked open.

If Keith had any say of how he’d love his own piece of heaven to be shaped like, it’d be this. A library or bookstore with endless shelves of books to read and comfortable places to sit.

It dawned on Keith then, that this was the first time he had been in a bookstore in ages. At least not since May when he was invited to an author’s panel at Books of Wonder with two other popular YA authors to discuss the complexity of original world-building. Even then, he was too busy asking questions, avoiding the questions on the upcoming book, and signing so many copies of his books that he couldn’t move his hand for two days.

Usually he had books sent to him, ordered by him or sent by the publishers. He noticed his TBR pile was growing so big that he had to put book-buying to the side. Being surrounded by all these shelves, the safety and comfort books always gave him, Keith felt like he was a traitor to his ten year old self who made his school’s library his second home.

Keith glanced around the titles. Popular ones such as _Twilight_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Hunger Games_. New names, like _Legendborn_ , _Cemetery Boys_. Then that was where he saw it.

His feet were already moving before his brain fully processed what he was doing. He roamed over the familiar purple and silver book, the gleaming silver wording of the title so bright that nearly killed him. Akira leaning against his hover bike, looking up at the stars, purple stripes slashed onto his pale cheeks. _Blade of Mamora: The True Heir_.

“Dear God,” Keith murmured, taking in a whiff of that new book smell that wrapped around him like a much-loved, old blanket. He turned over to the first page and spotted his name. Keith Kogane.

It didn’t matter how many copies he had saved in his own place, reserved in their own private shelf. Just like he never got over the feeling of seeing his books in bookshelves, featured in booktubers’ videos, creative pictures on Instagram. Every single time he saw it, warmth rushed through him.

His first book. Countless hours spent hunched over his then-old, crappy black Dell laptop and a stack of notebooks. Two years of intense editing and revising. Two years of intense pitch-wars that felt like a writer’s guild of the Hunger Games. Thousands of coffee cups, cans of Redbull, bags of snacks while he tried to work through a particular scene, went back to revise, had both his new revision and Allura’s edits lined against each other.

His baby born out of the idea of a half-Korean lead in outer space, tossed into a chaotic world of aliens and a secret identity. Inspired by Keith’s own love of sci-fi and fantasy, fueled by the desire to see someone who looked like him at the front instead of off the side.

He remembered how many kids, Korean, half-Korean, and even non-Korean had come up to him, saying they didn’t know how much they needed seeing themselves portrayed in books. Who wasn’t a ninja. Wasn’t a hacker. Wasn’t a side-kick. But a lead character, a hero. It was a feeling like no other.

“You spill even a drop of coffee onto that book, you’re buying, buddy,” said a voice behind him.

It was, of course, at the very moment Keith was taking another gulp of coffee and nearly spat it out of shock. Swallowing down the gulp, wincing at the hot taste, he looked around.

Behind him was a little kid. Shaggy, dark blondish-brown hair. Brown eyes appearing extra big- and meaner-behind round-framed glasses. Face was definitely cute, cheeks still plump, a tiny nose. The sneer, however, on their face looked better-suited for someone three times their age and hindered some of that cuteness.

“Pardon?” Keith repeated.

The kid heaved a heavy sigh that made annoyance flare in Keith’s body. “I said, you spill coffee,” they repeated. “And you’re buying.”

Keith struggled to keep his face impassive “You’re not the owner.”

“No,” A smile spread across his face, tiny and smug. “But I will be once my daddy decides I’m old enough to handle it.”

“Well, let’s hope, shrimpy, it’s not for a long while.” Keith answered.

“That makes two of us.”

Their heads swirled over to the direction of the third voice. Shrimpy’s annoyed face, pinched mouth opening for a reply, brightened to a grin as they raced over to the newcomer. Meanwhile Keith was ninety-nine percent sure he looked like a fish pulled out of water.

He knew who the guy was, recognizing the voice that was one of the few things Keith remembered from the accident. He also recognized the built of those shoulders. Even so, that didn’t prepare him for what he’d seen face to face in broad daylight.

Stranger- _no Shiro_ , Keith reminded himself with a slight shake- Shiro wore a huge smile as Shrimpy ran into his open arms and laughed along with the kid as he spun them around. All without stumbling, which was impressive.

As if he wasn’t attractive enough.

Beautiful Shiro- _Shiro,_ Keith reminded himself _-_ took notice of Keith standing here. He placed the kid back on the ground, ruffled their hair, and shot Keith a smile that made his heartbeat and stomach skip several beats.

“Hi, I’m Shiro,” he said. “Welcome to Blast Off.” He spread his arms out wide, gesturing around the books.

“I-I-I…” Keith’s face was practically a flame, burning so hot, he felt sweat beading at his forehead.

Shrimpy grabbed hold of Shiro’s jeans and waited till he was crouched down to their level, whispering loudly, “Should we call the police?”

Shiro, who knew the meaning of whispering, said something back Keith couldn’t make out and moved forward to the center of the room. In true romcom form, it was like the faint light choose to peek out from the thick clouds and directed the beam towards him, casting a golden glow behind him.

Keith was so sure that the Kuron comment had been based on the intense whiplash the accident caused, and delirium. He was shocked to find that he was actually….not entirely far off.

Of course, there were differences. Obviously Shiro’s skin was pale to Kuron’s lavender skin, normal human ears to Kuron’s cat-like ones. Five-ten feet to Kuron’s nine feet stature. Hairstyles too, with Shiro’s white fluff and black undercut while Kuron’s was its usual tight braid that grew stronger as the series went along. And of course, wholly gray to golden-rimmed, silver eyes. A color fan-artists always complained was hard to replicate in pictures and self-made Funko Pops. Allura ordered two for his birthday as a gag gift.

Distinct differences, but that was where they ended. Similarities were too many and too strong. Starting with the built, featuring wide broad shoulders and thick thighs to go with them (that Keith was trying his best to ignore), a tiny waist he was really trying not to look at. Then there was the face: the sharp jawline, the tiny nose, thick eyebrows, and most telling a thick faded scar slashed above the bridge of his nose. And of course, the prosthetic arm that was glinting white and light blue.

In books, Kuron was seen attractive. In reality, Shiro, was in one word, beautiful. Obviously and undeniably beautiful. Such as easy word. Such an obvious one that Keith was ashamed that as a writer, he couldn’t come up with anything more original. Yet that was all Keith could think. The fact that the stranger managed to make a hideous Grinch green sweater look shockingly charming was a testament to his beauty.

Actually now that Keith thought about it, Shiro looked like the human version of Kuron he’d seen in some fanart artists tagged him in. A lot like him that Keith wondered if Shiro was the model- _Oh dear God, he was staring at him like an idiot_.

“Sorry, I-” Keith winced. Seriously, no wonder he was in such a writer’s block. He was as clueless both at writing words as he was in saying them.

“You sure he wasn’t dense before the car wreck?” Pidge loudly whispered, missing the heavily stink-eye Keith shot her.

“Pidge,” Shiro kneeled down patted their head. “Why don’t you go downstairs and see if Uncle Hunk can whip us a stack of French Toast?”

As usual, the persuasiveness of sugar easily swayed kids off their tails.

“Okay,” Pidge spun on their heel and turned to climb down the stairs. Then stopped and looked back, glancing at Keith. “Remind him that if he messes up that book, he owes us money. Favorite author or not.”

Keith bit his bottom lip to keep himself from sputtering out at the accusation, even though he could tell his face was reddening. Across from him, he noticed a light shade of pink filling Shiro’s cheeks.

“And, Dad,” Of course Shrimpy wasn’t done. At least, this time her attention was on the human look-alike Kuron/his savior. “I know he’s your favorite author and all, but try to keep your drooling to a minimum.”

The pink sporting Shiro’s cheeks were nearly identical to Keith’s.

With that said, Shrimpy skipped down the stairs.

Awkward silence fell over the space, filling every inch of it. Their eyes met quickly before they both looked away. Keith fumbled with his book and coffee. Shiro coughed into his fist, and massaged the back of his neck.

“So?” Keith started.

Shiro looked over at him.

“Um, so,” Keith tried again. “Cute kid.”

A smile rolled across his face, awkward but still pleasant. And of course painfully pretty, making Keith’s heart strings pull tighter as he spotted a dimple by the right side. “Yeah, Pidge can be a handful. Lovable, but,” The look he shot Keith was exasperation mixed with fondness. “A handful.”

Keith laughed along with him, and said, “Well, with a mouth like that, I can only imagine how much of a joy she must-”

“They.”

Keith blinked, surprised. “Sorry?”

“They,” Shiro repeated again more firmly. “Although Pidge tends to leans on feminine traits from time to time, they prefer to be known as they and them.”

Realization arrived like a solid hand kissing the back of his head. “Oh- _Oh_. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I didn’t mean to offend-”

“Keith. Mr. Kogane.” Keith’s face must have been horrified, because Shiro quickly got out, “Okay, Keith then. Really, it’s okay.” He flashed a reassuring smile that had the opposite effect that it was aimed for, causing Keith’s heart to race instead of slowing down. “I’ve been out and proud for years now, but there are still sides to the LGTBQ+ community I’m not too familiar with. Non-binary, as it turns out, was the top one.”

Keith took in all that he said with a firm nod, chiding himself for the slip-up, but somehow the two that stood out the most to Keith were out and proud, flashing in front of his mind like a bright neon rainbow. “I-”

Shiro snapped his fingers, eyes widening. “That’s right. Your dog. You’re here for him, right?”

“Yes-no-well, yeah but-”

“I’ll be right back,” Shiro disappeared into backroom.

Keith wanted to bang the book against his forehead or see if it was possible to drown himself with just a cup of coffee.

He glanced down at the book in his hand and moved forward to place it back on the shelf, but then heard eager paws slapping against the floor, coming closer and closer to him. By the time Keith turned back, he was flat on his back, the cup tipped off and spilled a few feet away, and Kosmo was on top of him, swiping Keith’s face with eager licks across the face.

“Kosmo,” Keith laughed, attempting to push him off. A wasted attempt since Kosmo pressed more firmly against Keith, licking his face even more eagerly.

“He really missed you a lot.” Shiro said. Keith had to move his head to the aside, pushing some of Kosmo’s dark fur away from his face, to see Shiro properly, standing above them with that charming smile on his face.

“Yeah, I missed him too.” Keith reached out to scratch behind his ear, but a flash of searing pain warned him too late that he was using the wrong hand.

Much as he tried to seal it, the yelp of pain burst out of him, startling Kosmo whose ears flopped as he stepped back and Shiro who frowned as he crouched down beside him.

“You okay?” Shiro asked.

“Yeah,” Keith gritted out, wading through the pain until the burn lessened to mild irritation, a subtle throb instead of searing pain. “Courtesy of the car wreck.” He lifted up his cast arm. “A little parting gift.”

“Oh,” Shiro studied the red casting and the doodles that Lance siblings drew onto them in hopes of lifting his spirits up. “I can’t tell if that’s better or not considering the stories I heard about your little match with Lance.”

He was going to kill that little clown the next time he saw him. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “I’m curious. Exactly how many people heard about what happened at the hospital?”

Shiro poked his tongue to the left side of his cheek, looking like he was carefully picking out his words. “Depends.”

That was the last word Keith wanted to hear. “On what?”

“Do you mean how many times the story has been spread today alone, or in the past two days?” Shiro asked. “Unless you meant the ways I heard you nearly killed Lance? Very creative ways. From using your bare hands, a kick to the head, and using your IV tubes to nearly strangle him.”

 _Bare hands? A kick to the head? IV tubes?_ Nope, he wasn’t just going to kill Chuckles; he was going to slaughter him slowly. “I did not almost kill him. I only knocked him off me since he thought the best thing for me to wake up to was Pennywise the Dancing Clown.”

Shiro blinked his widened eyes once, twice.

“Yeah,” Keith said. “He dressed like a clown and nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Shiro folded his arms across his chest and nodded once. “You know, we- Hunk and I, I mean- we kept warning him that one of these days, he was gonna come across the wrong patient with that mask and they weren’t going to be happy.”

Keith dipped his head in acknowledgement, cracking a small smile when he spotted the one glinting in Shiro's eyes’ “Glad you agree. I could use a witness if someone convinces Pennywise to sue.”

Shiro chuckled. “I’ll make sure my suit is all nice and pressed for the court date.”

An image of Shiro in a James Bond suit popped into Keith’s mind, triggering spy fantasies that were doing very dangerous things to his heart and his lower end.

Kosmo interrupted those fantasies by nudging his head into Keith’s hand, clearly seeking attention since he was being left out. And he was such a needy baby. Sadly for Keith, he chose to nudge the wrong hand, jarring a pained hiss from Keith’s clenched teeth.

“Sprained?” Shiro guessed.

“Fractured,” Keith had to wait for the pain to die down before he spoke again. “My agent is gonna kill me when she finds out.”

Which would further add to the list of things Keith already fucked up.

“Oh no.” Shiro winced.

“Yeah,” Keith gave a grim nod, then quickly lifted his hand when Kosmo dove back in against, nudging against Keith’s chest. He lowered his wrist to the side while he used the other hand to pat Kosmo’s head to keep him tamed. “Could be worst though.”

He just hoped Allura saw it that way the next time he called her, which he knew had to be sooner than later. Otherwise, there was a good chance, she’d really kill him, cutting him up into pieces and burying each piece at different spots.

Clearing his throat, Keith looked up at Shiro, overwhelmed by his kind, open eyes that were close and more focused on him. “I wanna thank you. For what you did.”

“No need,” Shiro assured. “Anyone would have done it.”

“Not in New York City, they wouldn’t,” He’d lived in the city long enough to see traffic build because every car slowed down to check out the latest car wreck that happened in the middle of the street. “You saved me.”

Shiro bit down on his lip and Keith was sure he’d play if off, saying it was nothing. Instead what he said was, “You kinda saved me. In more ways than one.”

Keith followed Shiro’s gaze that was directed at the copy of the sixth book, _Black Champion_ sitting beside him. Heat rushed to his face when he finally connected the pieces.

“Oh.”

A nervous smile twisted his face. “Hopefully I’m not the weirdest fan.”

“No, that belongs to the suburban grandmother I met down in Arizona who wanted me to sign her Blades underwear.”

Shiro’s jaw dropped before a sound like a gurgled choke burst out, then laughter that grew more uncontrollable and harder the more he tried to tame it. Keith laughed along with him, aware that Kosmo was watching them, wearing a confused frown.

“Mind you,” Keith continued. “It was already weird when she made that request, but she made it worse by telling her grandson it was completely normal. My agent, Allura, had to tell her otherwise.”

Of course, that was after Allura spent a good minute trying and failing to choke down her laughter. All while Keith did his best to avoid Granny’s moony-eye stares and poor grandson who looked like he wanted to melt to the floor. He still remembered the kid’s mortified face, and how Allura threw in extra merch in his swag bag for his trauma.

“Oh no,” Shiro shook his head, chuckling.

“And before you worry about age, no,” Keith said. “You’re not the oldest fan I’ve seen. Granny and a few others beat you there. Although I’m about to tell you a secret.”

Keith gestured to Shiro to come closer to him. A feat that proved to be near lethal, having all that beauty so close, but Keith forced himself to say what he needed to say.

“Despite popular opinion stating otherwise, I’m a strong advocate of reading whatever the fuck you like. No matter your age or the genre.”

Keith didn’t know who started the idea that once you reach a certain age, you’re cut off from reading a specific genre, deemed too old for it. A bunch of horseshit to him. In high school, he was still reading Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. Whenever he browsed through the library or the bookstore, it was always the YA section he headed straight for first. The fact Blades of Mamora touched so many readers across the board from middle-schoolers, teens, young adults, and older adults touched him. Made him feel honored that he managed to bring that magic to them.

It was a reminder he told himself during the hard days of negative press, rough meetings with the publishing heads, and writer’s block. A reminder that he made magic with his own two hands. That people loved what he created.

“Besides,” Keith went on. “I owe you. You seriously saved me out there.”

A soft smile unfurled his lips as those gray eyes focused on him, his mouth a heartbeat longer, and then slid back down to the book. “Well, you definitely saved me first.”

Keith’s eyes wandered down to his metal hand that was resting palm laid out flat on his leg and wondered if that was connection.

“Pidge is a massive fan, too,” Shiro’s words brought him back to the present, his attention back to Shiro’s face. “They’ll try to deny it, but it’s one of their favorites.”

Somehow the first impression they made with Keith didn’t strike him as a superfan, but then again they were a kid. Kids were known to be fresh, wise-asses, and-

“It doesn’t help that they spend a lot of time with Uncle Lance.”

Well, that also explained a lot.

“Not as much as Dad, though!” As if they knew they were being talked about, Pidge was back, standing by the top of the stairs. Face smeared with Nutella and vanilla, and holding a half-eaten pastry that was dripping chocolate.

They used that pastry-holding hand to wave at Shiro, saying, “He loves your books so much that he even writes fanfics for the Blades.” A proud smile split their mouth. “One of the popular writers on ao3, might I add.”

 _Fanfics, huh?_ Keith’s eyes slid over to Shiro, watching the smile falter as light pink colored his cheeks. He looked back to Shrimpy, a small smile tugging his lips. “Oh really?”

“Yup,” they nodded. “Most popular fanfics writers on there. And one of the biggest Akira and Kuron shippers in the fandom.”

Keith wasn’t surprised. Despite the homophobes, the antis, Akira and Kuron remained to be one of the biggest ships from the Blades fandom. What was surprising was meeting one of said shippers in real life, face to face outside of the screen, watching their face quickly turn red as a tomato.

“Okay, Pidge, “Shiro said, flashing a warning smile. “That’s enough.”

“He’s so popular that he has his own following and several fan pages dedicated to his stories.”

“Thank you, Pidge.”

“His penname is Silver-”

In a heartbeat, Shiro was up on his feet and across the room, one hand pressed against Shirmpy’s mouth, the other wrapped around their tiny body as they were hauled up and pressed against their dad’s chest.

“Thank you, Pidge.” Shiro said.

“That’s enough.”

Only it wasn’t enough. Not for Pidge, who clearly had plenty to say, attempted to say even as they tried wiggling out of Shiro’s hold. But with a hand clamped over their mouth, it was hard to get the words out. It was equally hard to break free from the grip of a man who looked like he benched two-fifty, maybe even two-sixty-

 _Stop it, Kogane._ Keith gave himself a mental knock to the head.

“Besides,” Shiro said loudly over Pidge’s struggling. “I think Mr. Kogane is itching to go. He probably has a million other things he needs to do.”

That…was true. Like getting in contact with Romelle so she and the rest of them knew he was okay, Replying back to Allura’s millions of calls, messages, and emails before she decided to get the feds involved. Get Kosmo back to the inn and hoped that he liked the inn as much as he liked the store. And yet he couldn’t help feeling a pang of disappointment slicing through his chest.

“Right, you’re right,” Keith gestured Kosmo off him and stood up. “I should get going.”

He could’ve sworn he saw some of the brightness dim in Shiro’s smile, but maybe that was a trick of the light. Besides it was ridiculous; he was the one who cued Keith to take a soundless exit.

“I hope you do come again,” Shiro blurted, and then bit his lip. “Just in case you ever need some coffee. A place to get books. Or even get some writing done.”

His voice was nonchalant, his shrug casual, but Keith spotted that faint blush reappearing again.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” Keith said.

“Yeah?” A small, hopeful smile touched his mouth.

“Yeah,” Keith confirmed with a nod.

At that point, Pidge ceased with their squirming and stayed still, eyes glancing back and forth between them.

Keith decided to make use of the Blades book that was still in his hand. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a black ballpoint pen, and signed it for Shiro. _Human Kuron, reigning Champion w/the heart of gold._

The way Shiro looked at him when he handed back the book, it was like Keith had handed him the keys to the universe.

Gesturing for Kosmo to follow along, Keith went down the stairs and nearly stumbled on a step when he heard behind him:

“His username is SilverChamp230.”

“ _Pidge!_ ”

By the padding of feet and shrieking, he imagined Shiro chasing Pidge around the upper floor, lifting them into his arms, and probably trickling them to the death.

Back at the inn, later that night, Keith was in his bed, hair still damp from his shower, with his laptop propped on his lap. His Word doc was opened again and the only thing present was a blinking cursor, each wink a taunt to Keith.

After spending almost half an hour trying to write and deleting anything that popped up seconds later, his right hand awkward and becoming almost as irritated as the left, Keith decided it was time to switch lanes. He closed Word and went over to Google chrome with the full intention of checking emails and finally getting in touch with Allura.

That was being responsible. That was being practical.

Keith, however for the thousandth time, proved he was anything but that. Moving over to Google search and typing in _SilverChamp230 ao3_ , then clicking on the first link that popped up.


End file.
